Two Minute Hate Rant
by Chibizoo
Summary: Yami no Bakura’s monologue about pain in two minutes. Not recommended for those who wrote this fic. [A self-proclaimed companion fic to Neko-chan’s “Ore-sama”]


Author's notes:  
  
Disclaimer: I tried to own Gundam Wing, but was massacred by a bunch of fangirls.   
Eventually I had to settle for Yu-gi-oh, so it's really not my fault.  
  
This fic was undoubtedly inspired by Neko-chan's fic "Ore-Sama", one of the most   
brilliant pieces of psychological fanfiction I have ever read. Though my fic will   
not be nearly as good, I write this as a tribute to her amazing fic-writing skills :)  
  
WARNING: This fic contains- no wait! Why should I tell you what it contains? This is   
_ORE-SAMA's_[1] fic, and I can do whatever I please.   
  
*******************************************  
"Pain – n. 1. Physical hurt or discomfort caused by injury or illness. 2. emotional   
suffering ~ See also pains. [Latin poena, punishment]"  
  
- Collins Compact English Dictionary  
*******************************************  
Two Minute Hate Rant [2]:   
You may call me Yami no Bakura.   
  
But that is not my name.   
  
They only _think_ I am Yami no Bakura.  
  
You want me to explain this? Then I shall confess to you my secret. Look around;   
make sure no one else is eavesdropping. From my years of experience, I have come to   
learn that even the walls may have ears.  
  
How should I start? Perhaps by talking about _them_?  
  
_They_ think they are all superior. The Pharaoh, the Priest, the dawdling, fawning   
companions complete with trophy girls. Even _him_, that other, he who dares to call   
himself Yami no Malik.   
  
But only I know the secret. I laugh at their ignorance because I alone am   
Enlightened.   
  
They think they can achieve power through others. By dominating, winning,   
ruling, killing, they become superior.   
  
Power is none of that.  
  
Power is PaIN.   
  
And I have PAIn. No, wait! I _AM_ pAIn. I am paiN as it pours freely from my   
cuts and burns and stings like a torrential hurricane of fire and glass. I am PaiN as it   
erupted from my three thousand year slumber and filled me with self-loathing and   
revenge. I alone control the dagger that snakes up my (beautiful) pale skin and digs so   
many (beautiful) cuts into me until I am drunkard-filled with its sweet, intoxicating   
essence.   
  
I am addicted to PAIN.   
  
I love myself. Three thousand years ago, I exhausted my (beautiful) body and   
filled it with scars until they could not be rubbed away by bandages or the precious   
ointments that I stole from bazaars. I became ugly ugly ugly and hated myself because   
my (beautiful) body could not consume any more pain.   
  
ORE-SAMA is reborn. Ignore the whining, snivelling wretch crying at the back of   
my mind in some self-pitying heap. It makes me sick to think how much feelings _it_   
emits as _it_ sobs quietly to _itself_ while I try to sleep.   
  
Teach you? Secrets like mine cannot be simply learned. PaIN took me many years   
of experience. pAIn grabbed my bare, innocent (beautiful) body and wrenched it, twisted   
it, mauled it until I became consumed in its flames and collapsed so pitifully into ashes.  
  
They say that the dead phoenix will rise from its ashes. But I am not a phoenix – I   
am better than a phoenix.   
  
I did not rise from my ashes of PaIN. I _became_ paIn. I AM PAIN.   
  
PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN!  
  
Hear it until it screams in your mind and you can't hear anything but that over and   
over and over again.   
  
Isn't it brilliant? The gratifying feel of something digging into your skin, entering   
your weak, volatile flesh with such ease. What else could manipulate such Nirvana, such   
undiluted ecstasy?  
  
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!  
  
_Dig_ it harder and harder and HARDER!  
  
Every one of my nerves screams for more, awoken, aroused from their slumber to   
gather the bliss and share it with my entire (beautiful) body. Then my (beautiful) body   
trembles with the PAIN and I cannot think of anything else but the PAIN and PAIN and   
PAIN travelling through my veins.   
  
PaiN is pleasure. PaIn is power.   
  
And I have both. I AM both.   
  
Any blade, dull, smooth, serrated or perhaps newly whetted. I want to feel it   
against me, to feel that moment of helplessness and acquiescence as I succumb to its kiss.   
The kiss is so warm and cold and dazzling that I can only part my (beautiful) lips in awe.   
  
I moan. It is involuntarily, and so natural that it seems to come from the shadows   
surrounding me. Sweat trickles down my (beautiful) bare body and over my half-healed   
scars and cuts until I can no longer control my euphoria.   
  
Drip drip drip.   
  
So warm. WARM and HOT, unlike the cold brutality that I had to endure for   
three thousand years. Unlike the piercing eyes of the Pharaoh or the Darkness of he-who-  
calls-himself Yami no Malik.   
  
No, I am not Darkness. Ore-Sama cannot be Darkness.   
  
I bled and bled and bled until I changed from darkness to ochre red. It was not an   
instant transformation but a gradual alteration over time. I'm again the thief who stole the   
aged wine from the cellar. I'm guilty and guilty and guilty, but I ruthlessly pry the bottle   
open and let the refined liquor slide creamily into my mouth, until my tastebuds become   
incredulous at such flavour.   
  
It has to be PURE. The purer, the stronger the taste. It has to roll slowly   
at the tip of my tongue before making its way down my throat, trickling-slow.   
  
Don't you see now? How beautiful PaIN – ORE-SAMA – is?   
  
I am beautiful and powerful and Enlightened.   
  
This is my secret.   
  
And ORE-SAMA will be very upset if you told anyone else.   
  
Very very upset.  
  
**************************************************  
  
End notes:   
  
[1] Ore-sama denotes speaking of oneself in a highly exalted and self-worshipping tone.   
Yami-Bakura uses it a lot in Battle City, though I also took the reference off Neko-chan's   
fic.   
  
[2] Where's the hate in this fic? How about the last sentence? As for the fact that it lasts   
two minutes – well, I'm a fast reader.  
  
A random flamer had previously commented about my lack of plots in fics.   
  
A plot.   
  
There. This fic now has a plot. In fact, it has two. You can't blame me now. 


End file.
